Try
by like a criminal
Summary: MerDer from a first time Grey's writer. It started off as a prompt story written for LJ, and it's now a oneshot. It's named after the song Try by Sidsel Endresen and Bugge Wesseltoft... and yes. Please read and review. Takes place after Losing My Religion


You can't sleep. In fact, you haven't had a decent night's rest in weeks. She's sleeping. You can hear her soft breathing, and when you roll over to face her you see that she's smiling in her sleep. You wonder if she's dreaming about you.

You want to touch her, so you reach out, your fingers inches away from her golden hair, and then you stop. You take a deep breath and curl your hand into a fist, drawing it back to your side and squeezing your eyes shut so that you can stop looking at her.

You wish you could go back in time, because this isn't life you're living, this is imitation. You wish you could go back to college, before your internship, before your practice in New York, before your move to Seattle, and most importantly before you'd met either of them. Before things had gotten so complicated. Even though you were dirt poor in college, surviving on a steady diet of Domino's pizza and cheap Chinese takeout, your life wasn't a tangled cobweb of lies and you were in control. On weekdays, you focused on your classes, studying for your MCATs, and getting into med school. On weekends, different women danced in and out of your bedroom, and it was okay, because you didn't love them and they didn't love you.

Now that you're a highly paid, well-known surgeon, you shouldn't have to worry, theoretically. But you do. Because now women love you. And now women drink because of you, and women sleep with your best friend because of you, and even if it is because of you, you still feel like you can't do anything about it. You wonder if you've lost your mind.

You open your eyes again and you see that she's still smiling. At you. Well, not really at you, but you lie to yourself because you want to believe that you can make her happy. And you want to make her happy. On occasion, you do, you never miss it when she smiles at you with her eyes over a clipboard, or in an elevator, but usually you don't. You'll never forget how her eyes pooled with tears when you'd had to put your dog to sleep or the hurt and anger in them when you'd called her a whore, or her sheer confusion the day after prom, when you'd entered the hospital hand in hand with your smiling wife.

But today had been a good day. She had looked at you over a patient in the OR, and you could tell her lips formed a smile even though her mouth was hidden by a mask. And when you had showed up on her porch in the rain she had tilted her head to the side before letting you in and going on her tiptoes to press her lips against yours. And when you had rolled her onto her back, and pinned her to her mattress with your hips (in the middle of your second act of adultery) your eyes had locked and you had stopped breathing and for a split second, you were happy too.

She had let you hold her, and you had, waiting until her breathing steadied before you released her, your thoughts ringing in the space between your ears. And now here you were, sleepless, and there she was, smiling.

You sigh before reaching out again and fingering a lock of her hair. Her eyes fly open, wide, and her hand immediately moves to grab your wrist. There's a new look in her eyes and when you recognize the fear in them your heart drops.

"I'm scared too," you whisper.

Her grip softens and she gives you a tired half smile. You feel yourself smiling back and you wonder if everything is going to work itself out.

---

When you wake up in the morning, it takes you a full minute to realize that you aren't still dreaming. And for that minute, you lay perfectly still trying to commit the moment to memory, knowing it probably won't last.

Your hand is on his wrist, still, his palm cupping your cheek even in his sleep. And his lips are smirking, no, smiling. And that makes you happy because you don't think he smiles enough. You wonder if this is what you looked like when he was watching you in the middle of the night and you try to keep from laughing.

You slip your hand from his wrist and his eyes flutter open, and he's looking at you, lazily, and he's still smiling.

And this makes everything all the more perfect.

He moves his thumb back and forth across your bottom lip and you wonder if it's still swollen from the night before. You wonder if he has the day off too, but you don't want to open your mouth to ask because it would ruin the moment and you could lie like this forever. You decide you want to touch him too and as you reach up to twist his hair in your fingers his pager goes off and he rolls over to look for it on the floor, taking his dark locks away from you and leaving your hand stuck in midair.

Seconds later your pager goes off as well and you groan with frustration as you are vaulted back into reality.

---

You manage to go the entire day without seeing him. Your day was filled with blood and wounds and sutures and surgeries and you had never been happier for them. You grab a thick pile of folders from the nurses' station and make your way down a quiet hallway.

But then you hear yelling and you stop in your tracks, shocked, and listen.

"You didn't even have the decency to call and say where you were, I was _worried_," you hear, and then the color drains from your face as you recognize the voice as Addison's.

You know that you should leave, but for some reason you can't make your legs move. And maybe in some masochistic way you want to hear the full extent of the damage you've caused.

"I don't even know why I both-" Addison's voice is cut off and you can hear him speaking in softer tones. You strain to listen and you can barely make out his words. Something about "love" and "over" and "Meredith" and "love" and "divorce" and you gasp. You can't hear him anymore because the blood is rushing in your ears.

Before you know it, the door is swinging open and Addison is crashing into you, sending your folders flying out of your arms. You step back, surprised, and attempt to stammer something but your eyes catch and she looks at you with distaste, turning on her heel and stalking down the hallway. You bend over to gather your papers and look up to see Derek sitting on a chair in the small room, watching you, and you remember the sad, defeated look in Addison's eyes. And suddenly you can't breathe, so you run.

---

You throw a pair of gloves into the trash and run a hand over your face, exhausted. Sometime during the first stages of your hunt to find her you had been sidetracked, it seemed like the whole world was working overtime to keep you apart. It was a giant conspiracy. Patients were coding on purpose, they were lining up to risk their lives and offering their skulls to be opened bedside on a twisted mission. You caught yourself wishing that they would just die already and you silently cursed yourself, wondering what kind of doctor that would make you.

But some things are more important than patients' lives.

You wander down to the tunnels, wondering if that's where you'll find her. You stop only to get a bag of chips that you attempt to crunch silently. You don't want to signal your arrival. The first person you see, leaning against a gurney is Dr. Karev, and you can't say you're shocked when he glares at you.

He stands up straight and moves quickly in your direction. His hands shove against your shoulders until your back is against the wall, the food falling out of your fingers.

"I know you're my boss and all but there's a few things I want to set straight," he spits, the second person to yell at you today. "Izzie called me and she's freaking out because she saw you leave the house this morning. And she's freaking out about Meredith and whatever the hell it is you did to her. And normally, I don't care who you're screwing over, but when Meredith gets all fucked up and does stupid shit because of you it becomes Izzie's problem. And Izzie's problems are my problems. She doesn't _need_ this right now." His voice cracks, ever so slightly, and he pushes you harder for good measure. "So whatever it is you're doing, stop. Don't. Hurt. Her." You're not sure which her he's talking about anymore, but you keep your mouth shut. "Or, so help me God, I'll break every bone in your body."

He releases you and disappears down the hall, and you straighten your lab coat, still silent.

Seconds later, you're doing another lap of the hospital, still searching. You finally find her sitting on the bed in an empty on-call room. She is leaning against the wall with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them.

She remains staring into space when you enter the room, and doesn't make a motion for you to leave or to stay when you sit on the bed next to her, so you stay.

It's silent for a few minutes until you open your mouth to speak the first words you've said to her all day.

"Alex threatened me."

She bursts into tears.

---

When you wake up for the second time that day, you're disoriented. You're in a dark room and your face is pressed against a body, you know that because you can feel your head rise and fall with its deep breaths. You pry your puffy eyes open, and as they adjust to the darkness, you realize that it's him, again, and you see that he's watching you, again.

His warm hands are placed at the small of your back, just under your scrubs, and his fingers dance lazily against your spine. You try to stifle a yawn, but it slips through anyway, and his lips curve into a small smile, his eyes still focused on yours. You're exhausted, and your bottom lip is quivering, and you know that he sees it when his brow furrows, and he moves to press his lips against your forehead.

"No more crying," he insists, firm, but gentle and you find yourself slowly nodding.

"How long," your mouth feels dry and your voice is paper-thin, you clear your throat. "How long was I sleeping for?"

He shrugs, "Long enough."

Somehow, his answer is satisfactory, and you prop your head up with you hand, resting on your elbow. You remember the morning, and in a second, your hand is buried deep into this thick hair. And now he's grinning, surprised, and you're smiling too.

"I wanted to do that all day," you admit. And tiny lines form next to his eyes as he laughs. He looks happy, but you can tell he's tired too. The bags under his eyes are all too telling. You realize he didn't sleep, and wonder if he spent the entire time just staring at you.

You can't help but think that it won't last, despite what you overheard in the conference room today and you sigh, laying back into the mattress and looking up into the dark ceiling. The last time you'd laid in an on-call room like this, with him, was the day before Addison had come back and taken him away from you. It was different because that time you hadn't been crying, and you hadn't been clothed, but you'd been grinning at him foolishly, and he had smiled back at you, just like you were today. And in that moment if someone had told you that the next day, he wouldn't be yours anymore you would have laughed at them.

You sigh aloud and try to pretend that Addison had never happened. That the two days in the rooms had been consecutive, and that Derek had never been married, and that you had never seen the sad look in the other woman's eyes earlier that day. And something about the look in her eyes made you think that, maybe Derek would feel for her like you did, and leave you again. But somewhere, deep down, you think that his body pressed against your side is a sign, and in seconds, as if you wished it, he is looking down at you, into your eyes, and you're finding it harder and harder to convince yourself not to hope that he stays with you, like this, forever.

"What are you thinking?" he says, his voice is husky and his head is tilted to the side, and you find yourself bending your knees and spreading your legs so he can fit in between them.

"Nothing," your voice comes out breathy.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again and speaks. "Can I kiss you?"

You almost want to laugh at the doubt in his tone, but instead your teeth find your lower lip and you nod. And then he leans down and captures your mouth in his.

This is the feeling that you were missing the entire time, you realize, this feeling of wholeness. When you had him originally, you had never felt loss, true emptiness, and even when you had him at prom, and the night before, and his body had literally filled yours, there had still been a blank space. Now, right now, everything is full.

He pulls away and looks down at you again and you're trying to catch your breath.

"I missed that feeling," he murmurs, as if he has read your mind.

You put your hand on his cheek and nod a second time, and he leans down and brushes his lips against yours.

"I missed you."

His words hang in the air and you stare back up. Your fingers are moving across his stubble when you finally speak, "I never went anywhere," and even in the hushed tones, your words are slightly accusatory.

His eyes cloud over, "I know."

"Good."

There is silence for a second, before apologies spill out of his lips. He doesn't stop talking, and you aren't listening to his words. You wonder if you should take things more slowly. If you should make him wait, like you waited, if you should be more sensible, more reasonable, think more about what the others will say. And then you realize that you were never the sensible type, and you really don't care what anyone thinks, and that he's still talking. But most importantly, you know that you want, right then in that moment, and tug at the bottom of his scrub shirt pulling it up to under his arms and silencing him.

He stops talking and you breathe a sigh of relief as he stares down at you, disbelieving.

"Enough. Derek that's enough."

He sits back on his knees and raises his arms above his head, letting you pull the shirt off the rest of the way.

"Take off your pants," you instruct, and his lips twitch up into a smile as he pulls the drawstring of his scrubs, wriggling his way out of them. It feels like too long before he's directing his attention towards you, lifting your shirt and kissing a trail from your stomach to your collarbone, and you don't want to take your eyes off him. He raises his head to look into your eyes, as if searching for approval.

"We don't have to do this, I can wait, I understand, I'm sorry," he begins and your hand moves to cover his mouth.

"Stop talking," your frustration is apparent. "Just stop. I don't want to wait. I just want you, now. And if you're really sorry you'll shut up and do this."

And he does.

---

Days later and you're lying together again. Except this time, you're in the trailer, and she's lying with her head on your chest, only half-asleep. Her breathing is steady and she is curled into the space in your side, your bodies fit naturally together.

Everyone at the hospital is talking about you. She says that her friends have advised her against you, and Alex still watches you with warring eyes. Addison is a wreck, and you know that it's your fault, but you can't feel bad because one, you know that Mark would come at any time to rescue her, and two, you've never been happier in your life. It doesn't matter that Bailey won't assign her to any of your cases, or that you can hear the nurses whispering, loudly, when you sit together in the cafeteria. Moments like this make it worth it. When your skin is still damp, and she's so close, and the air still smells sweetly of sex, and you can't think of anything except for how much you love her. And wonder how you lasted so many months without her. And you wonder if she loves you too, but figure that she must, because then why would she be back with you?

You can feel her stirring against your body and hear her yawning like she always does. She props her head up so that she's facing you and presses her finger against your nose.

"We should get another dog."

"We should probably switch vets," you quip, and she laughs. You don't know how you went back to being so comfortable with each other, like nothing had ever happened, even though it had.

"I'm serious though, I miss Doc," she admits.

"I miss walking with you," you offer.

She smiles back at you and you're happy, because you know that despite all the rumors, and drama, and bullshit you have her again. And you can go back to how it was before, and you can be happy, and most importantly, you make her happy.

Her eyes move away from yours, and she stares down and away. She presses a hand against your chest and licks her lips, her long fingers splaying awkwardly through your chest hair. She inhales, sharply, and you move two fingers under her chin, lifting her head up so her eyes meet yours.

"Derek, try - try not to - please don't leave me again," she whispers, and then she squeezes her eyes shut. "Because I don't know if I can do that all over."

A breath that you didn't know you were holding in escapes your lips and you pull her closer. You press your lips into her hair, "I won't. I promise," you whisper, repeatedly, until you're not sure if you're even saying it anymore or if you're just repeating the mantra to yourself over and over again.

She falls asleep again, peacefully. And you find yourself watching her, just as you had a few nights before. You're happy that she's resting, and at the same time, you're terrified, because you realize that you had truly broken her.


End file.
